


You're Ripe

by GrendelGrowls



Category: Original Work
Genre: Belly Expansion, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Bloating, Blow Jobs, Chair Bondage, Come Inflation, Cum Inflation, Encouragement, Feeding Kink, Force-Feeding, Gen, Inflation, Light Bondage, Oral Sex, POV Second Person, Reader-Insert, Restraints, Size Kink, Stomach Ache, Stuffing, Teasing, belly stuffing, expansion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-15
Packaged: 2021-03-24 08:00:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,720
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30069141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrendelGrowls/pseuds/GrendelGrowls
Summary: Waking up in a strange barren room, you find yourself at the mercy of an unusual man who claims that you recently made a deal - a deal that involves you being forced to indulge in a belly kink that you don't normally share with others.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Reader
Kudos: 53





	You're Ripe

**Author's Note:**

> This took ages to write because I went through multiple "down days" in a row, but it's finally finished. This fic is based on a DM conversation with a friend, and is also the first use of Sybar (my current main OC and a character I have some big plans for), so think of this like a teaser for a future project using him.

A lot rushes through your head as you try to bring yourself awake. For a start, you don't remember falling asleep, let alone being removed from your bed. It's cold, it's dark, and for a moment, almost completely silent, with only the thick and scentless air to console you. You aren't dead, which is... relieving, but things could certainly be better.

Everything feels blurry and sluggish, like you've been hit on the head, maybe? There's no bruise, though, just a strange weight to everything. Your eyelids don't want to respond quite how your brain is telling them to, and your own body heat seems a lot more comforting than it normally would. Either the space around you isn't all that cold, or you're a lot warmer than normal, but if you could just see-

The lights snap on, and it doesn't help. Wincing at the flash, you try to get an idea of where you are, but there’s not much to help you identify the room. Barren, more or less, apart from an obligatory desk, chair and bed, almost like a prison cell. Your heart sinks as you realise that you're probably not far off, but there's still a chance that the windowless, oversized metal door is unlocked or that you were put here as some kind of safety measure. It's not a room you've seen before, so for all you know, you're in a completely different country entirely.

With nothing else to do, you just sit for a moment, allowing your senses to come back to you. You're still clothed in your favourite shirt and jeans, and you don't feel any sharp cuts or pounding bruises on your body, so you _probably_ haven't been forcefully kidnapped. That doesn't really make you any more confident about getting home, but there could be far worse fates than waking up in a strange cell.

If that's the case, though, what the hell is going on? More importantly, why are your hands tied to the metal chair beneath you? A few harsh pulls with your arms prove that you're not just imagining it, and that there's _definitely_ rope lashed across your wrists, keeping the backs of your hands pressed tightly together like you've been handcuffed.

Panicking slightly you go to stand up, only to find your legs almost locked in place the moment you lift your knees. You can see the rope down there too, simply knots that have managed to completely restrain you against the meal seating., No matter how you twist and turn, trying to shift your weight or pull apart the bonds on your limbs does nothing but make it clear just how fucked you probably are.

From somewhere behind you, a deep, almost sultry male voice half-chuckles out a bark of surprise. "Ah, our new friend awakens! Turn him around, would you?"

You barely have time to let out even the most basic of confused sounds before your chair is wrenched around, the bindings keeping you perfectly positioned as the legs scrape across the concrete floor. You instantly flinch in shock as you're brought face to face with perhaps the most bizarre robot you've ever seen - and you've seen many. Almost human in shape, but with various metal components bolted on, most notably a cyclopean metal head and the pair of vicious-looking gripper claws where its hands may have been.

Hovering over its shoulder is a tube that looks aftermarket, cobbled together with other parts of other appliances. At the end appears to be some kind of funnel, and your brain doesn't even dare think about what it's meant for or where it's supposed to go.

The machine's one-eyed face looks you over for a moment, completely silent and calculating, before it withdraws to the left and stands idle. Behind it sits something even less expected: a massive, corpulent man wearing nothing but a purple hood, a thick metal chain that hangs down to just above his chest and some kind of ventilated hockey mask. Your brain decides to interpret him as a fat, nudist Jason Voorhees, but you decide that it's best not to stay that out loud when you're tied up like this.

Reclining in a big chair that seems to have been constructed purely _for him_ , the large man lounges back, one hand resting on his bloated stomach while the other swishes around a glass of discoloured red wine. "I'll assume from your reaction that you don't remember who I am, or the... _agreement_ we made a few nights ago."

"...No?"

"Ah." He shakes, as if he's giggling to himself under his breath, and raises the glass to you. "Perhaps the name Sybar would jog your memory?"

Sybar. You _have_ heard of him before - somebody who's prominent in the underworld of almost every vice you can think of. Not some kind of drug lord or anything, just a figure that always seems to come up in discussions about enjoying after-work activities, right down to little things like alcohol or expensive chocolates. Somebody at work had even recommended him for something maybe a year ago, back when you were looking for tips on how to relax and deal with stress.

"You're Sybar?"

"Guilty as charged. And I know exactly who _you_ are, because you were _very_ reserved when you introduced yourself to me. It was almost sad, really." With a groan of effort, he tilts himself forward, getting seated properly on his chair. You can see everything from this handle, but he doesn't appear to care about his obvious nudity, even as it brings a flush to your face. "Still blanking on our arrangement?"

You can't remember ever meeting him, but his face is definitely familiar, not to mention the size of his body as a whole. It's evident that Sybar's gut has been given _very_ lavish treatment judging by how large it's grown, but he's also a lot taller than the average person, not to mention surprisingly muscular for somebody so meaty. "What arrangement did we make?"

Pointing at the robot standing beside you and waggling his hand, Sybar gives some silent order, and the machine wanders off to some crates in the corner of the room. "I was out enjoying some of the local nightlife in the only club around these parts - horrid place, too many rules - and you came up to me with this spark in your eye asking about me and my associates. I'm surprised you don't remember it."

It still doesn't ring a bell, but you can remember the club itself. Maybe you blanked out the memory somehow?

"Anyway, you came up to us just asking if we had seen your coat, but I couldn't ignore the smothered fire inside you. There was something about you that just screamed 'please help me, I'm repressing myself', so we made a deal." Patting the surface of his gut with a small slapping sound that revealed just how dense it was, Sybar takes a glance at the glass in his hand. "In a few days, we were going to break that habit for good, and today's the day. Me, you, and the bot over there I call Rupert, we're going to have some fun together."

A vague memory of that day finally pops into your head, and you cringe at just how accurate his statements were. You had been sitting there with this mountain of a man and his gaggle of partygoers, slowly opening up to complete strangers, and you had dropped a few hints towards something you usually kept under wraps. The things you were into, the fantasies that you had woken up in aroused sweats about, _almost all of it_.

Sybar notices your slowly-reddening cheeks and lets out a hum of thought, placing his drink down on a box next to his oversized chair. "Don't be ashamed, it's bad for the soul. I suppose we can cure you of that habit soon enough, though. Rupert, the seeds, please."

"Seeds?"

"I was honoured that you told us so many of your private needs and desires, and I thought it best to repay you for how you made yourself so vulnerable. Show him the seeds, would you?"

The robot - Rupert sounds like an odd name for such a strange design - steps back in front of you, the hose around his back convulsing for a moment until it dispenses a small, corn-dog-like pod that doesn't seem all that appealing to eat. Despite the lack of a mouth, the machine begins to speak in a unisex, matter-of-fact voice. " _Altered cattail heads, modified to expand under set circumstances. Each head contains over twenty-five thousand rapidly-expanding seeds. Current number of cattail heads stored: three-"_

"Shh, don't spoil our guest's fun!" Waving Rupert away, Sybar hums to himself for a moment, then turns his attention back towards you. "But yes, you heard correctly. Cattails aren't exactly a _conventional_ option for this kind of thing, but the idea of them filling you up, slowly hatching, pouring thousands of seeds into your tightly-packed gut and stretching you further and further... an appealing thought, isn't it?"

As much as you would want to deny it, he isn't wrong. Sybar's over-fed and clearly-stretched stomach lets out a little grumble, probably from the pure amount of food packed inside, and you lose track of what you were about to say. Before you can stop yourself, your mouth is already moving, and the word "Yeah." escapes your brain into the open air. The instant you realise that you actually said it, you're stammering to correct yourself, but the corpulent masked man raises one hand to try and calm you.

"No, no 'correcting' yourself to deny the truth, we don't do that here. You can't enjoy the good things in life if you're not letting yourself have fun, can you?" Sybar rises from his chair, and you're surprised at how well he's able to carry himself as he stomps over to you. It probably helps that his gut has almost no flabbiness to it - it's just a single, solid addition to his body, smoothly curving from his chest to his waist like a thick ball. "The more you try to contain that feral beast inside you, the harder it gets to trust yourself. Do _you_ trust yourself?"

It's a question without an answer, but even if you had one to give, it falls silent as Sybar walks over, somehow perfectly balanced despite the obvious hedonism that has swollen his middle - along with the rest of him, proportionally - to something more akin to a walking snack container. Considering he stands at least three times your height while you're sitting down, the amount of food he could hypothetically hold is staggering, far too much for you to imagine. His hand hovers in the air for a moment, then he leans forward, his gut heaving and groaning with every movement. "I can tell that you don't. What would you have done if I hadn't been there, hm? Walked away and never thought about indulging in your basest desires? Would you _ever_ let yourself enjoy the things that you were _built_ to enjoy?" Pressing his thick palm into your relatively flat stomach through your shirt, the masked man lets out a disappointed sigh. "You would go your entire life never knowing what pleasures were locked away in that brain of yours."

Swallowing air, you struggle to maintain eye contact, your cheeks starting to burn slightly. "I wanted self-control..."

"And that's only _natural_." Sybar pulls his hand away and beckons to the robot, signalling for it to properly deploy the feeding tube on its back. The funnel gives out a worrying rumble as it moves near to your face, and something inside the 'bot begins to whirr. "But instincts and desires are also natural, and the idea of society's rules and regulations, that's all _artificial_. Indulge yourself, even if it's just this once. Let yourself feel that stomach swelling, the walls of your belly giving in, the deep groan of a well-fed body stretching out in satisfaction..."

Even with half of your brain begging you to refuse and demand to be released, you're thinking more with what's between your legs. It's very hard to deny that you've had dreams like this - maybe not exact, but similar - and seeing Sybar up close is proof that it's possible in real life. Glancing down at your own body, you can almost imagine the way that your gut will gradually begin to expand, stretching each piece of shirt fabric to its limit and roaring in fullness as you continue to pack more and more into it. It's like somebody lit a fire under your belly that's slowly spreading throughout the rest of your body, driving your mind more and more towards the same shameful arousal that you've kept hidden for quite a large portion of your life. Without thinking, you nod again, watching the hose-like tube slowly approach your face.

Sybar shuffle backwards into his chair and settles in, looking extremely comfortable despite his large size. The robot's nozzle pushes against your mouth and slips inside, then seems to clamp itself in place, making you grunt in shock as four little claw-like parts tighten it against your face. It's enough to muffle your speech, and you can only let out a small whimper of concern as the huge hedonist watches you from his seat, chuckling to himself. "Rupert, begin the feeding process, if you please."

" _Dispensing payload."_

At first, you wonder what kind of form these strange cattail pods are going to come in, only to gag slightly as one enters your throat. You were expecting individual seeds, but instead it's the full head: a sausage-like fluffy mass that gently tickles your tongue as it struggles to slip down your throat. Terrified of chomping down on any and somehow popping them in your mouth, you use your tongue to push it down, feeling the slight bulge as it squeezes past your throat muscles and gently slides into the very bottom of your stomach. At that point, another one is already in your mouth, and you manage to get it down fairly quickly. They're not actually that bad, but you're not used to swallowing things like this whole, so it takes you a moment to adjust to the strange feeling it creates in your gullet.

"Remember, these are modified cattails." Sybar gently sips on his wine through the mask, spilling some of the red liquid on his chest. He makes no attempt to clean it off. "Normal cattails expand instantly, but these ones have a set trigger in them, a trigger I think you'll quite enjoy."

Through the funnel, you mumble out a vague "What is it?", although your full mouth can't get most of the syllables correct.

"Oh, you'll see. For now, just relaaaax, you're in friendly hands."

The idea that you're letting him do this is clearly insane, but there's something under his words that you can't let go of. Every time one of the strange seed pods slides down your throat, you imagine how they'll feel in your stomach, slowly but surely fulling you up from the inside and leaving you a bloated, exhausted mess primed for some gentle rubs and tender care. You've never admitted to liking this kind of thing in public, but whoever Sybar is, he seems to know a lot more than he should.

From his chair, the giant hedonist lets out a small belch as he finishes his glass of wine, his eyes still locked onto your body from inside his mask. "It won't feel like much at first, but you'll get there. You'll stretch out, just like you've always wanted to. You'll be _full_... when _I_ _decide_ that you're full."

A hollow rattle from the tube catches your attention, and you let out a little squeak of surprise as a cluster of the seed pods push against your mouth, all coming down at once. With no real way to stop them, you wince and quickly gulp them down, feeling your gullet stretch to try and get them all down properly. They're just soft enough to make you sure that you won't block your airways: in fact, the pods are easily squishy enough to deform around each other, which makes them a lot easier to swallow than you had expected.

The moment they leave the end of the funnel, more replace them, giving you another mouthful to handle. It only takes one or two more loads of them for your gut to protest, grumbling at the intrusion that it can't digest properly, but your bound hands mean that you can't give it any kind of comfort. You feel a little bloated, but definitely not full - probably because they're so light.

More come, and then more, each one effortlessly passing into your stomach like they're barely even there. It's an odd experience, but you don't feel uncomfortable, so you decide that it's best to just let it happen. In your mind, you see yourself bloated with whatever the pods contain, your stomach stretched out and bulging slightly as the last few pieces are packed into you. It's just a fantasy, but-

Your belly lets out a groan, and you peer down, noticing the slight swelling. Even under your clothing, it's very clear that your body is running out of space. The Cattails might be light, but that hasn't stopped their collective weight from starting to add up, and it doesn't remove the physical mass they still have.

Sybar chuckles to himself, pouring another glass of his drink from a table off to the side of his chair. "It's not quite what you wanted, hmm? Not full enough?"

The tube withdraws, and you instinctively cough, feeling like you haven't been able to breathe for five minutes straight. Sybar's eyes are still travelling up and down your body, but his mask makes his expression almost impossible to read. 

You almost forgot that the robot was even there - all your attention had been focused on the large man's extremely self-indulgent body, wondering if he was planning for you to end up like himself. Was this even planned at all? He had been very upfront about the fact that this was something _you_ wanted, and you were inclined to agree. You just hadn't actually _expected_ it to ever happen, and now that the fantasy was potentially becoming real, it was difficult to know how to respond to it.

Turning to the robot, Sybar takes a look at something on part of its body. "Hm, only down to fifty percent. What do you think?"

You wait for the machine to respond, but then he turns his gaze back to you. He's asking _you_ to decide. Flustered and not sure how to deal with the spotlight that he's cast on you, you shift around in the chair, feeling the sausage-like seed containers slowly tumble over one another inside your mild potbelly. "I don't know..."

"Ah, inhibitions. The greatest enemy of our time. Let's say it's a yes, then." With a clap, he signals for the machine to begin its work again.

Your eyes widen as the robot sticks the feeding tube's funnel end right back between your jaws, instantly depositing another lump of the surprisingly light and fluffy items straight down your throat. They're beginning to push down on one another now: cattails are light, since they're just plants, but you didn't expect them to start compressing down and only taking up a fraction of the space you expected. For such weightless morsels, they really add up in your stomach, each layer squeezing the previous ones down and making the entire mass a lot harder for your stomach walls to properly deal with. 

The funny part is, your belly isn't even close to full, but something still feels off. The bloating is very light, floaty, with only the same weight as a single meal. It's almost disappointing, and for a moment, you wonder if Sybar has misunderstood what you're into. You want to correct him, but there's something about the way that he's looking at you that suggests a plan: he keeps glancing at the machine, tapping his fingers against his glass as he waits for _something_.

More and more of the seed pods enter your gut, and the lack of room finally begins to become a problem. As more and more of them compress onto one another and form a more solid core, your stomach starts to react accordingly, gurgling in confusion and stretching out slightly further to hold the new arrivals. It's a strange fullness, one that doesn't feel as weighty or as solid as you expected, but you can't deny that your skin is starting to pull taut as more and more pods are being rammed into your throat. 

It's still not enough, though. This isn't _enough_ for what you're into, and you can tell that Sybar knows it as well, because he's clearly paying more attention to the robot feeding you. Another uncertain rumble escapes your stomach, and you begin to squirm in your chair a little, unsure if you'll actually get what you're hoping for.

"Stop." Sybar's hand raises, and the tube's motor immediately whirrs to a halt. Unplugging the funnel from your mouth, the machine steps away and stands completely still, emotionless and ready for another command. All that's left is you, your swollen middle, and the idle groans of your stomach walls trying to process what's just happened.

After a moment to gather your breath and clear your head, you take another look at the giant man in front of you. "So... what now...?"

"Now?" With a grunt of effort, Sybar pushes himself back onto his feet, placing his wine glass down safely and stomping over to you with one hand pressed against his corpulent body. "Now we trigger it. You understand how seeds work, don't you?"

A loud grumble in the pit of your stomach grabs your attention, and your eyes snap to the surface of your potbelly. With your hands out of the picture and your legs similarly bound, there isn't a whole lot you can do to take control of the situation, so you breathe out to make sure that you've created as much space as possible. It won't be much, but if something's going to happen, you'd rather at least try to endure it.

You raise your gaze back up to Sybar, and find your eyes lingering on his thick cock, now only a few inches from your face. With a huff, he places one hand on top of your head, patting it like you're some kind of pet.

"Seeds need to be fertilized."

Stunned at the suggestive nature of his statement, you don't really know what to say, but it's oblivious that he's waiting for you to make the first move. Ignoring the odd heft inside your gut, you hesitate for a moment, then lean forward gently lick against part of the head. As much as you'd love to deny it, the raw size and shape of Sybar's member is enough to get you interested, and that's not even mentioning the immense round gut and its deep groans sitting just above your head.

It takes you a second to get used to what you're doing, but once your mouth adapts to the motions you're going through, you begin to work your lips down the bottom of his cock, gently kissing at the slightly thick skin that covers it. If your hands were free, you'd be kneading that gut like there was no tomorrow and sucking him dry, but there's only so much you can do from where you're seated.

Sybar pushes closer, his cock pressing up against your face as his stomach lets loose another moan from the countless morsels packed inside it. You were heated before, but looking up at him and seeing the curve of a huge, well-fed stomach so close to you ends up bringing you to diamonds. Almost without thinking, you start to tend to his girthy shaft as well as you possibly can, your mouth silently begging for something more substantial.

Even here, you can tell just how large it must be. It's not excessive, but it definitely holds up proportionally, and Sybar is a _large_ man. Already leaking some clear pre-cum, you can't help but indulge in the taste, working away at his sensitive spots while the imposing hulk of a man stares down at you over the distended edge of his stomach.

"I knew you'd get into it. You've been repressing yourself, I can tell."

What little remains of your self-restraint is starting to melt away, and you can feel a heat inside you, coming from months - if not years - of pent-up frustration over restricting yourself. You just want to clasp your hands on the surface of his large gut, listen to it groan as it's filled over and over again. You want him to show you the limits of your own body, the amount that your gut can take as it slowly stretches to hold whatever thick and heavy contents he's fitting into it. A daze starts overcome your common sense as you imagine yourself at the foot of Sybar's chair, worshipping his utterly depraved and excessive form while you indulge in your own base desires.

Moaning into the side of his cock, you continue to lick up and down the base, stopping for a moment to pay some attention to his balls. They're bigger than expected, just like the rest of him, but you can't help yourself from giving them a few quick kisses. There's something about _fat nuts_ that just aces like the icing on the cake, and if you weren't already completely overwhelmed, they would definitely be the tipping point.

Sybar's hand pats your head one again, coming to rest on the top and guiding your movements closer to the tip of his member. "It's good to let yourself loose. You've spent so long hiding what you like, but I know how to break that habit." Pressing your face up against his balls and holding it there for a moment, letting out a little noise of amusement.

You whimper at the heat on your face, the weight of his cock resting against you, and he continues talking without giving you a chance to try and speak. "Show me the proper worship I deserve, and I'll make sure that you're bloated until you can barely stand. Don't let yourself think about it, don't listen to your brain.

You respond with a healthy kiss on the surface of his balls, slowly moving your tongue up his shaft until you reach the tip again. With a small grunt of effort, you try to bring your lips over it, hoping that it'll fit properly as the end of his cock moves into your mouth. Slowly, but surely, Sybar manages to sway back and forth until he can push a quarter of its length inside, and you realise that any regrets you held earlier are completely gone. It doesn't take you long to start your own motions, letting your mouth and tongue run along the shaft again and again in an effort to pleasure him

Every bob of your head makes it clear just how immense his gut is compared to you. As you near the base of his cock and begin to take more of it in your throat, his head begins to disappear almost completely, obscured by the overhand of his taut and groaning stomach. Every carnal sound that comes from your mouth as you work him over only adds to the arousal you're already feeling, and a small part of you imagines this becoming a regular occurrence - serving as his personal source of relief.

Any hesitation in your brain has melted away, and you're not afraid to admit to yourself that Sybar is _fucking hot_. You want more of this, more of him, and you want him to make you just as unchained as he appears to be. The shackles of your own self-restraint are completely gone, at least for now, and that gives you the option to stop holding yourself back.

His cock finally pushes to the very limits of your throat, and you gag slightly, realising that you haven't even hit the base of it. The sheer length and girth make your mouth feel full, and you can almost imagine the bulge it would create to an outside observer. It twitches as you slowly withdraw your head again, and you let slip a quiet curse of arousal, immediately returning to sucking him dry as soon as you can get a clear breath of air.

"Mh, good little servant... see how easy it is? You'd do so well if you joined in on our unrestrained lifestyle."

You don't even really remember what you want, because so many different potential ideas are flashing across your brain, but you keep going for what feels like hours. All track of time is gone. Whatever Sybar means about 'joining their lifestyle', you can't imagine that it's a bad thing, not when you can see the way he lives.

Your attempt to reply goes nowhere, as his cock is almost completely filling your mouth, but he responds with yet another pat to your bobbing head. "Let go. Give yourself up to pleasure, and we'll make sure that your every want is filled. You'll have access to dozens of people looking for somebody to worship their indulgent bodies. We'll be able to keep that gut of yours well-fed forever, and you'll never go hungry again."

Another twitch runs through his cock, and you hear Sybar moan in surprise. Realising what's about to happen, you instinctively move away, only for his meaty hand to grab you and force your mouth down his cock until it starts entering your throat.

"It's time for the seeds to grow."

Your eyes widen as he begins shooting his cum straight into the back of your mouth, and you do your best to swallow it as fast as possible, in shock at how much he's creating. A low huff of pleasure escapes his mouth as he keeps your head in place, emptying himself into your throat while his hips gently shake at the sudden electrifying shock that shoots through his body.

It doesn't seem to stop. Your already-bloated stomach lets out a pained groan as you feel the torrent of cum slowly adding to the mass in there, the surface straining just a little as you continue to fill out. Your stomach is rounding out once more, and it doesn't feel like Sybar's orgasm will ever actually stop. The idea of being bloated full with his seed - as well as the other seeds, ironically - is something far too hot to ignore, but you also wonder just how much he's going to make.

It's incredible just how excessive it all is. After what must have been the tenth gulp in a row, you start to feel that fullness that you'd normally get from drinking too much water - a heavy, sloshing discomfort that makes you want to tip forward ever so slightly. Even so, it doesn't stop, an 

By the time Sybar pulls out and takes a second to breathe again, you must have easily swallowed countless times the amount of cum that _you_ would normally produce on a lonely night. The uneasy shifting in your stomach, combined with a long, drawn-out groan from somewhere deep in your middle and the way that your own stomach has curved into a real ball-like potbelly, makes the reality of what's happening much clearer. You can't stop yourself from leaning back in the chair and admiring what's happened, panting slightly at the sight your fantasy that's come true.

Sybar looks you over for a moment, then leans down and place one hand on the surface of your stretched midsection, chuckling to himself. "Can you feel it?"

"...feel what?"

"That churning in your guts?" His hand gently strokes around the surface, pressing inwards and making you gasp at how oddly full and sloshy you feel. The seeds are about ready to crack."

"Crack?" You barely get the word out before something inside your guts shivers, and a rough gurgle of confusion fills the air as your stomach walls realise that's something's happening. One by one, the seed pods start to open up, the contents slowly seeking out empty space in your already-very-full stomach. With an unusual noise that you can only process as a murmur of discomfort, your stomach muscles begin to tighten as the pods rapidly expand. 

Then, you remember that each pod contains upwards of _twenty-five thousand_ seeds, and the panic sets in. With your arms still tightly bound to the chair, you begin to squirm slightly as you realise _just how many_ _fucking seeds_ you're dealing with here, but it's already too late to stop them from spreading. The bulge of your stomach grows more extreme by the second as more and more space is eaten up by a new wave of seeds, Sybar's semen somehow instantly fertilizing them and releasing the contents with no way to prevent it.

You let out a moan of confused satisfaction as your stomach lurches out by another few centimetres with a hefty grumble. Sybar's eyes are locked onto your gut, and you can hear his heavy breathing, but he doesn't comment on your situation. - he just watches, and the spark in his eyes makes it clear that he's been waiting for this moment.

Leaning slightly further back in your chair and starting to breathe a little faster, you let out another whimper as your stomach continues to swell. A sudden cramp overtakes your gut walls, the feeling of fullness suddenly becoming a lot less bearable as a quiet huff of discomfort slips out of your mouth. The pressure inside you is starting to build now that your body is making an effort to contain the bloating, and that's not necessarily a good thing.

Even with the extra strength of your stomach’s walls fighting to handle the changes, you're still growing, and you can feel the rate of seed expansion increasing as your body lets out a horrifyingly deep series of burbles. The edge of your abdomen bloats across part of your thighs, slowly starting to hide more of each leg thanks to the rapid distension.

You have no idea how many have opened, or how many are yet to come. Sybar’s hand hovers a short distance from your stomach, as if he’s patiently waiting for your gut to come to him as it continues to fill up. With another quiet whine, you try to stretch your back out against the chair to relieve some pressure.

“Sybar, I can’t... hold this much...”

His other hand comes to rest on your shoulder, softly gripping your upper arm joint. “You will.”

“But I can’t-“

“You _will_.” It’s both an attempt to reassure you and a command, but also somehow neither of them at the same time. It’s like he’s repeating back your own fantasies, and it causes another stir below your bet as you feel the back of your neck turn prickly. “You’ll be surprised how much that little gut of yours can hold when you’re a heavy, churning, over-fed mess.”

You want to deny it, but the mental image of your dense stomach groaning under the stress of several-million highly-compressed seedlings makes you zone out for a moment. It’s _actually happening_ , and with every shift of your belly’s insides, you feel more and more seeds beginning to shove themselves into whatever room they can find. The churning of your digestive juices does basically nothing to stop the modified cattails, and moving around only makes the pods burst faster.

Before you have a chance to stop it, your stomach sends a bubble of air up your throat, and you let out a surprisingly loud belch that instantly brings another blush to your cheeks. You try to apologise to Sybar, but he doesn’t even flinch - the large man’s eyes are locked on your expanding middle with a sharp glare of pure anticipation.

The weight is definitely adding up, but not as fast as you expected. It's not like you've packed yourself full of heavy meats, and the seeds are more like rice: light individually, but compacted together until they're no longer recognisable as individual items, just a big lump of heft that refuses to settle in the base of your stomach. Letting out another, smaller burp to release a tiny amount of the increasing pressure, you transition into a groan of discomfort and shift your weight on the chair.

Every time you move your body, the seeds leg behind, like your entire stomach is refusing to follow the rest of you. It feels bizarre, but you're more concerned about the fact that the seed pods are continuing the pop, pushing your taut skin further and further beyond its normal comfort zone. There's no slack, no flab, just an ever-growing sensation of feeling completely and utterly tight. You swear that you can hear your own gut creaking as your body puts almost everything into maintaining the growth of your midriff, and your now-badly-fitting clothes aren't helping.

One by one, you feel the buttons of your shirt finally reach a point where the fabric can't hold itself together. There's a harsh clacking sound as the outermost one pops straight out of its mounting, followed by another, then another, slowly pulling the two parts of the garment away from one another. With every button that bursts, you can feel your stomach groaning forward, slowly getting closer to Sybar's outstretched hand. It feels like your insides are burning, the walls of your belly losing the fight as the muscles get overpowered by the massive pressure building inside it.

The worst part is, they're starting to cramp. Your guts are trying everything possible to contain the spread of the seeds, but the pods just keep releasing countless more, forcing themselves into every millimetre of unused space with no chance to prevent it. As your muscles desperately attempt to stop the expansion from getting any worse, you feel Sybar's hand cup your chin and tilt your head up. He makes you meet his gaze with a quiet huff of amusement, and you can hear his panting. Or maybe it's your own, you can't tell anymore.

Struggling to speak past your own pathetic whines for it to stop, you take a deep breath and try to keep a single sentence going. "Please, Sybar, I'm so full..."

"Isn't that what you want? To be full?" As he speaks, your belly begins to strain as the muscles inside start losing the fight, faltering under the stress of handling so many seeds at once. You can see it gradually bloating further, starting to consume what's left of your lap and hiding the top of your knees as it continues to swell. "You're getting exactly what I said you would get - a chance to indulge."

Finally, your gut muscles give up the game. A deep, hefty and long-winded gurgle rises up from the pit of your stomach as your body stops trying to hold it inwards, and in a matter of seconds, the high pressure pushes your skin even further out as your waistline stretches to accommodate hundreds of thousands of tiny seeds. The quick and uncontrollable distention forces a pained moan from your mouth, and you rattle your bindings against the chair, wishing that you could just comfort your stomach for even a moment or two.

Biting your lip and trying not to cry out in a mixture of pleasure and pain thanks to your stretched skin, you see a glint in Sybar's eyes even though they're concealed behind his mask, and his hand patiently waits only half an inch from your stomach.

The sloshing of your digestive juices and the tumbling of the seeds makes it hard to think, but with one final rumble, the very edge of your stomach bloats out right into his meaty palm. The moment it makes contact, Sybar grasps the surface, holding into your horrendously oversized potbelly as he chuckles at the sight of your helpless form.

"You're ripe."

You can feel it - the swelling has stopped. With a loud groan and a few panted breaths, you take another look at the curve of your stomach, in disbelief of how full you must be. You can even see the points where your skin has become red with how far it's had to stretch out, and if your hands weren't restrained against the metal chair frame, they would definitely be working on trying to relieve some of the stress.

Sybar's hand gently brushes against the bottom of your bloated gut, his fingers pushing into the surface and making it clear just how utterly stuffed you are with the seeds. You lost track of how many are in there, but it feels like multiple hundreds of thousands, all pressed into a very limited space that's left behind absolutely no room for anything else. It's still hardly enough to give Sybar's own any kind of competition, but you've never felt so full in your life.

The robot - which you had genuinely forgotten about in the haze of what your stomach had just endured - clanks over and quickly clips away your bindings, finally freeing your hands from the chair. The moment they're able to move, you end up clamping them down on your stomach, moaning in pain as you feel just how firm the outer surface of your gut has become. There's practically no room left, and you feel like you could curl up and pass into a 'food' coma at any moment. It doesn't help that your belly, finally able to stabilize and understand what it's gone through, has begun to try and digest the excessive mass packed inside it.

Soon, your legs are freed just as your arms were, but you don't feel like standing up. Hell, you don't even really feel like you can do much but sit there and occasionally belch or huff as your gut squeezes out some more of the pressure inside, because there's no possible way that you'll be able to keep your balance like this.

Running his hand along the surface of your midriff and nodding with satisfaction, Sybar takes a second to just look at you, drinking in what he's done to your poor body. You're so stretched and sore that you'll probably need to sleep for a whole day just to feel better, but that's not happening any time soon, not with the rapid shifting and churning of your insides as they get to work on the impossible task of processing it all.

Over the sounds of your strained digestive tract and the various quiet moans that leave your lungs, Sybar delivers a hefty pat to the side of your belly. "How did that feel?"

You can't gather the appropriate words, not in this state. It honestly feels like you should have burst open after even half of what you've been stuffed with, but the uncomfortable groans of your stomach make it clear that you're _somehow_ managing to endure it properly. "I'm... full..."

"Exactly like you've always wanted to be. Stuffed to bursting point, without having to worry about the consequences." With another quick laugh directed at nothing in particular, Sybar slips his hand away, reaching down under your arm to help you stand up. It's a struggle, and the moment you're no longer sitting still, everything in your stomach flips forward like a solid ball rolling to the other side of an over-filled plastic bag. It's enough to make you wince in both pain and an unusual feeling of satisfaction, but you can't reliably respond to either.

With gentle yet firm steps, Sybar guides you over to his chair. One of your hands is effectively glued to your stomach - you're too afraid to remove it in case the entire thing suddenly lurches and makes you topple over. Shuffling forward and holding onto Sybar's larger body like it's the only thing keeping you alive, you moan and mutter under your breath, begging your guts to quiet down and just accept what's happened so that you don't need to stay awake digesting it all.

To your surprise, he offers you his chair, and you sit down on the oversized seating with a heavy gut and even heavier eyelids. You're exhausted, and it's not hard to see why, because most of your energy is going towards the atrociously-stretched middle that used to be your flat tummy. Settling yourself against the comfortable back and armrests, despite how large the chair itself is, you finally get a moment to relax and let your body work.

Sybar steps back and cocks his head to one side. You're slowly starting to fall asleep out of sheer necessity, your body demanding rest so that it can handle what's been forced inside it. There's no way that you're in any position to argue with your own needs at this point. The large man glances at the sides of the chair, then at your stomach, and sighs. It's not a sign of frustration or sadness, but a sigh of anticipation for something in the far future.

"Not yet. Soon, though." His hand reaches down to his stomach, and he gently pats his own gut, which lets out a deep rumble. "Soon you'll fit into that chair perfectly, just like me."

You don't get a chance to ask him what he means, because you're already asleep, your brain checking out and your stomach kicking into overdrive. You're full, you're tired, and above all, you're unusually satisfied with what's been done to you. Somewhere in your gut, the seed pods start to finally succumb to the digestion process, but far slower than they probably should.

The last thing you consciously think about is just how much further your stomach could stretch, and you sink into a very necessary sleep, your churning gut sucking away the last of your energy. On the other side of the room, too far away to see even if you were wide awake, Sybar begins counting out seed pods.

Whatever fantasies you're about to have, they won't be fantasies for long.


End file.
